


i wanna be the moon

by mewsingmage



Category: Persona 2
Genre: Eternal Punishment, F/F, Gen, M/M, i cut copied and pasted 3 disparate EP canons for this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-20
Updated: 2018-11-16
Packaged: 2019-05-09 07:48:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14712017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mewsingmage/pseuds/mewsingmage
Summary: The little things give you away...Between then and now, so many little things...will they ever add up to something someday?Anna and Noriko contemplate their feelings for one another. Some friends help along the way.





	1. now & before

**Author's Note:**

> and i can't make you cry
> 
> from way up in the sky
> 
> and that's the reason why
> 
> i wanna be, [i wanna be the moon](https://thescaryjokes.bandcamp.com/track/i-wanna-be-the-moon)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> just me and her

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _If you be my star I'll be your sky_
> 
> _You can hide underneath me and come out at night_
> 
> _When I turn jet black and you show off your light_
> 
> _I live to let you shine_
> 
>  
> 
> _I live to let you shine_
> 
> _But you can skyrocket away from me_
> 
> _And never come back if you find another galaxy_
> 
> _Far from here with more room to fly_
> 
> _Just leave me your stardust to remember you by_
> 
>  
> 
> from "Boats & Birds"

When a star dies, nobody even notices.

So far off, so distant, that it's centuries before people on Earth can even tell the light's finally flickered out, gone forever.

But if that star was the sun, they'd know _~~oh would they know~~_  the very second they saw it supernova. Of course, that's not how the sun dies _~~not that they'd care~~_. No, our star isn't so lucky. Instead, when it can no longer glow gold, it slowly _~~painfully~~_ bloats out into a red giant over a billion years. Having exhausted all its hydrogen, it grows hungry, eating up everything within reach, Mercury, Venus, maybe _~~hopefully~~_ even the Earth. And when it has swelled to its largest size, when it cannot consume anything more _when ~~it just hurts too much~~_ , it sheds its own skin, peeling away a husk of hot helium that dissipates into a planetary nebula. At the center, the matter that remains _~~all that's l~~_ ~~eft~~. . . a white hot core, half the mass of the sun squeezed into something the size of the Earth _~~like a billion human beings stuffed into a single body~~_. And then, nothing happens for a long time _~~at least, it looks like nothing~~_ ; in the desolate darkness of empty space, that cold light burns so much longer than it did when it was still full and golden _~~that time had been far too short~~_ , just shining for trillions of years, for eons, all alone _~~without me~~_. . .

It suffers every second ( _please. . ._ ) until it finally ( _don't. . ._ ) allows itself to stop, to dim, and darken, and fade away. . . forever. . . laid to rest in the abysmal void. . . . . .

( _I'm so sorry_ )

Yes, it is the destiny of most stars to turn black. They are rarely given the honor of such a spectacular and innocent death as the one we are so often lead to believe. That's why we don't even blink when one disappears. If that light had been legitimate, truly extraordinary _~~like an "actual star"~~_ , then it would have never dimmed, never been dirtied. No, never. Even though stars are as finite as everything else that's ever existed. Even though they're born from the same dirt and dust as we are.

Yes, we ourselves were born from their remains, our very lives and futures made possible by their sacrifice _~~isn't that a miracle?~~_ , yet still. . . nobody even notices. . . when a star dies. . .

 

I'm a good girl. I read books and listen in class. That's why I know these things.

 

*

 

**NORIKO**

_January 2000_

At the time, the fog was too thick in my head to make out coherent thoughts, and my eyelids refused to open, weighed down by an exhaustion so heavy that I didn't even attempt to lift them. But, even in that haze, I can still remember it so clearly. . . that sound, a careful intonation. . . the icy warm voice that rang out, low and soft, with a sentiment I had never heard in it before. . .

"I'm sorry Noriko...I'm so _so_ sorry. . . "

' _Don't say that, please don't say that, it was. . . my fault, all...mine. . ._ ' The last phrases I managed to think before my mind clouded over completely once more... _weird dreams. . ._

 

I came to surrounded by people, faces of adults I'd vaguely remembered from a couple days before, pretty much complete strangers. The sight of them sent me spinning, my vision once again growing fuzzy, blurring at the edges. Terror twisted up the guts and muscles in my abdomen as sweat crawled over my skin like an army of ants. I could scarcely breathe tasting the nausea tingling on my tongue. A million vivid questions seemed to whirl around as I tried to regain a grasp on lucidity. _Who are these people? What have they done to me and why? Where even am I?_ I shut my eyes and tried desperately to remember those events that had lead me to this situation, but my mind only brought up strange and dark images. Vague, shifting shapes, but one very, _very_ distinct feeling. My stomach flipped. Yes, the feeling of hate overpowered everything else. Horrible, terrible, disgusting, sickening, vile. An evil I made in me to. . . to finally give those men what they deserved. Because _they_  were the pathetic ones, the scum, the real lowlifes, not. . . not her. . . never her. Not the last person left in this world that, that I could still say 'I love you' to and mean every breath of it ( _from the bottom of my heart)_. I had to do it, I had to prove it. Because it was all I could do, because every movement she made seemed to brim with pain, because she smiled more with him than she did with me, because she was. . . going to leave me all alone.

 _I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm_ —

My watery eyes burst open, overflowing as they swarmed around the room, soaking in the endless blue that carpeted the entirety of the space.

"Noriko?"

_Ah..._

A calmness overcame me as I craned my neck back at the cool, crisp cadence of such a refreshing voice, to meet the face that matched.

Anna.

Her usually piercing azure eyes seemed to blend into the background, though I could tell they were staring back at me with an uncharacteristic softness, her gaze heavy with concern.

' _Pretty, as always. . ._ ' I cooed somewhere in the back of my mind. Feather-light fingers brushed away the thin trail of tears. The frission made me shudder. At that moment, I could finally feel the gentle jostling of skin and fabric beneath me, found my head resting on her lap. A bit of warmth spread over my face as I sprang to attention.

"O-Onee-sama??"

Anna kept a set of tender eyes on me, simply nodding her head as she stood up and proceeded to hold out a hand to help me steady myself. Her strained face seemed to have eased a bit. I felt some small sense of relief as well, but still. . .

"Why are you...why am I. . . "

"Don't worry...You're no longer a Joker...These people saved you."

 _Joker_. That one word connected everything together. The realization finally forced out the bitter guilt bubbling up in the back of my throat, making me vocalize my most immediate thought.

"( _sniff)._..I'm sorry...I'm sorry...I'm...I'm. . ."

I sobbed pleadingly into her chest, begging for forgiveness. It was then, down in the depths of my heart, that a deep-seated dread welled up.

_What I've done can't be undone._

The damage I'd inflicted upon Anna was irreversible. My immature meddling just made everything worse for her. So much worse. Scars on scars on scars. She'd never look at me again. Because. . . because it would remind her of all of these things. These things _I'd_ done to her. Things I could never take back.That were _my_ fault. . . all mine. . .

We had stayed in that embrace for just a few moments before gentle arms reached out to grasp my shoulders. Turning to look at the warm-faced woman who'd been standing beside us, Anna wore an expression I couldn't quite read, almost somber, but, not quite, and then, and then. . . she pushed me away. . .

Rejection. _Of course_. . . the things I've done are unforgivable. I've caused so many problems for her. It's understandable that she'd hate me. Of course, why did I ever think—

Anna quickly turned around and strode over to one of the adults, a man wearing red sunglasses. I think, I remembered him from school that day the police showed up. Wasn't he one of those officers? What did Anna want from him. . . 

The woman beside me, clad in a flashy top and miniskirt, touched my shoulder and turned towards me.

"It'll be alright, okay? Just think positive!"

She motioned her arms so energetically, I couldn't help but force a weak smile as I nodded along. Even though her words weren't believable.

"Are...you going to arrest Noriko?"

I turned to the sound of Anna's voice. She had asked the officer matter-of-factly, firm and resolute with a hand on her hip. The nonchalant manner with which she spoke stung. _She truly hates me._ It's justified, it shouldn't hurt, but it does. I don't want to hear this.

"Everyone is innocent until proven guilty...We'll keep her under protective custody for the time being. . ." the man replied.

I honestly didn't care what was going to happen to me. _It doesn't matter._ If there's a punishment, I deserve it. I know I'm bad, I'm cruel, I'm redeemable, I'm dirty, I'm—

"Thank you. . ."

Anna's statement of gratitude tore through my vicious thoughts. A release of pressure, a wave of relief. I heard it in her voice and I. . . I could see it. From behind, I could see her chest heave and her body shudder as she used her arm to wipe away the tears. She was. . . crying...crying for my sake? The adults muttered amongst themselves but all I could think about was Anna's reaction. Never had I seen her break down like this for any reason, out of sadness or anger, let alone. . . joy? Joy. Anna was happy that I wasn't going to be punished. Shouldn't she hate me for all the trouble I've caused, all the awful things I've done in her name. _Shouldn't she?_ Why...why was she so worried about me. . .

"Alright!! Then let's go!"

In my daze, our current chaperones had all grouped together, readying to leave.

And it was then that I realized this was my last chance, to say what I needed to say. So I jerked forward, stumbling over half-formed words. The only one who turned around was a woman in green with shocks of white running through her red hair. Her beauty mark caught my eye.

"Th-thank you," I stuttered, "thank you very much, for helping me." The woman smiled. Light and pretty and just a bit pointed. She lowered her head as she spoke, "Ah, but I've done nothing worth thanking me for. I just couldn't leave you alone." The smile tightened as her eyes trailed along the ground.

"Cuz I was involved."

Her line of sight shifted slightly, still on the floor, but now a bit behind, turned some degrees.

"Let's all do our best against Joker."

I glanced at the cheery woman hovering just beyond her left shoulder before nodding. Confession and atonement. I understood the need too well.

Then they all left with no more guilt-heavy admittances.

 

*

 

I was brought to attention by the harsh snap of a flip phone and the pressure of another's hand on mine.

"I had a chat with that police guy," Anna said, "He's Tatsuya's brother so he's letting us of the hook."

She held my hand delicately as she spoke, the subtle circling movements of her fingertips on my palm soothing me along with her voice.

"Said it's okay for us to just go as long as I watch over you and call him if anything happens."

With that, she gripped my hand firmly and pulled me up. The adults had long since left the. . . the Velvet Room? Or whatever this place was called, leaving Anna and me to rest for a while. I'd just sat on the sofa, silently. An obedient child.

"Is that really what he said?"

Anna simply stared back at me with that sharp look of hers, the one that always made it impossible to tell if she was lying.

"Okay then, let's go," I sighed, trying to hide a weak smile.

 

Time seemed to pass differently cooped up in that room. For when we returned to the outside world, it was dark, the nearly pitch-black alley lit by a single streetlamp. Yumezaki's main road blazed far ahead of us, bright from the glow of fluorescent lights and flashing signs. The air was icy, already numbing the fingers on my left hand. It didn't matter to me though. I tried not to think about the hand tugging me along, the one keeping my right hand from freezing.

The switch from dark to light nearly blinded me. On the street, some people were already fast asleep. Others were up and about, wobbly and drunk. A couple of them approached us, laughing and making gestures I'd rather not describe. But it only took one glare from Anna and they were gone.

 

The two of us walked down the street together, Anna continuing to grip my hand like a vice. Though, I still tried to stay a bit behind out of some lingering nervousness. Although Anna was taller than me, her pace was quite a bit slower, her right leg trailing her left one as she walked. I tried my best to match her speed.

From behind, I could look at her without meeting her gaze, see the edges of her face stand out against hazy neon. A sharp side profile. She was too focused on moving forward to pay me much mind. 'Or maybe', I thought, 'she's ashamed to look at me.' It was easier to think that than imagine, other possibilities, as if she did it to spare _me_ shame. As if she'd take my own anxiety into account.  _I don't deserve to even entertain the thought._

 

Cars passed by us here and there, their black windows catching the city lights. In them I avoided staring at my own faceless reflection repeated over and over again, instead focusing on the shapes and signs swimming behind me. Turning to the side, I scrutinized the scenery. Strange, and ominous, but somehow. . . all too familiar. I felt my eyes widen with recognition. Yes, the path was dark but not unknown. The fastest road from Yumezaki to Hirasaka. I'd walked it so many times in the daylight, I could tell from the weeds and the potholes and the cracks in the pavement.

 

"Are. . . are you taking me to my house?" I asked.

Anna finally looked back as I quickly tried to make myself small.

"Yes."

She turned forward again and blew a smoky breath out into frigid air.

"The trains've stopped running by now and I don't feel like trusting some random taxi this late. . ."

A deep sigh rose from her chest.

"Especially tonight."

I squeezed her hand and slowed my pace. There was a pressure in my lungs.

"I don't want you to."

For the first time since our departure, there was resistance. Some semblance of will.

"Hmm..." She still tried to push ahead.

I squeezed harder.

_I don't want to go home. I don't want to see mom and dad. I don't want you to drop me off and leave me all alone._

"You don't want me to take you home? But...I can't  let you go by yourself."

My head shook quicker than I could think. _That's not it. I'm more selfish than that._  I wanted to shout it.

"Oh." She hesitated.

In the interim of her blinks and breaths, I felt the sweat and the shame soaking every centimeter of my skin. I lost sight of the street and the cars and all the lights. All of them, everything, just a blur. . . as if I wasn't even there.

One firm squeeze brought me back.

"Alright, then I'll take you to my house." Anna exhaled as she loosened her grip.

"It's easier anyway."

My head moved up and down, automatic, mechanical. I could still feel something sticking to my skin.

 

*

 

I remember. . . I'd been using one of my mom's outdated medical magazines to fan myself on that sticky night during summer break. The night I first saw her. It was on TV, some random sports news report from a few days earlier. The coach from my junior high's track and field club had recommended that all us members watch it, and I'd listened, of course. Back then, running was just another school obligation, an easy hobby, something to pass the time, keep fit, maybe add as a footnote to my college application. I was decent at it, it was enjoyable enough, and that was all.

". . . and in lane 5, an up-and-coming star, Anna Yoshizaka, the breakout freshman from Seven Sisters High School in Sumaru City. . ."

Sumaru huh? A star from our own town.

". . . champion of Kanagawa Prefecture. . ."

Wow.

". . . and the top qualifier for the women's 100 meters here at Japan's 50th InterHigh Nationals. . ."

_WOW!_

My eyes were glued to the screen. I needed to see this girl barely older than me, from the same city, who'd already run her way to the top of a nation.

"Hi, the name's Anna."

A brief interview played before the race. The short-haired girl speaking looked older than she was, somehow more mature, with a hard face and stone blue eyes that cut cold as lapis daggers. Like a knife that finds its home in the heart, her gaze pierced straight through. No struggle, no resistance.

 _'What a pretty girl. . ._ ' I'd thought. I lingered on the feeling of faint warmth in my cheeks.

"I don't do things halfway, I'm going to be the fastest in Japan and make it all the way to the Olympics."

The way she spoke revealed her true age, a high and youthful voice speaking in a manner quite rebellious and perhaps a tad conceited. The innocent arrogance of a child prodigy.

' _So_ cool _,_ ' I'd thought, a grin widening across my face. I had to hold my teeth tight together to keep myself from giggling too uncontrollably.

But that was all before. Before those things really meant anything to me.

Before I heard the starting gun.

After that, it all matters. It's like, I'm blinded. There's lots of other runners, but I can't see any of them. Only one body seems to be shooting across the screen. She stands out. She's special. Because. . . because she enjoys running more than anyone else. I just know it. The effort, the joy, in each spring and step and surge forward. The rise of her chest, swelling with air and exhilaration. It's like feeling the pull of the sun, you know, the weight of it. And you can feel that heat, dazzlingly radiant. Her running figure flares with purpose, pure incandescence, unyielding as the force of gravity itself; the others are just specks of dust in comparison.

So when she blazes straight through the tape mere seconds from the start, beaming with sweat and that honest  _honest_ bliss, first place just a secondary consolation, I know.

A dream so far, so high, it shoots through the heavens. A star burning so bright, she's destined to chase down that dream, catching it, holding it in her own hands.  _How romantic!_  My heart sings against my ribs. I want to touch that star. Ignite my own ambition in that glorious heat.

 

And so, I decide to train.

 

_August 1997_

 

*

 

An hour had passed before our feet finally moved from asphalt to creaky gravel, finding the familar path along the Tanabata River leading to Anna's home in Rengedai.

I spotted the bridge across far off in the distance.

"You could've been seriously hurt," Anna finally spoke, breaking our miles of silence. "Or worse. . ."

"Does that. . . matter?"

I tried to focus on the crunch of sticks and stones shifting underneath my sneakers.

"I would've never been able to see you again."

'Then I wouldn't be around to bother you anymore,' I wanted to say, but I just, couldn't. I didn't have the guts. Of course, _of course,_ I've always been a coward. Every "act of courage" worthy of praise was just faked bravado. Each and every one. . .

"A-all I've ever done was give you grief," I finally managed to choke out. _Always hurting more than helping._ Always. _ALWAYS._

"It's better to, not see people who've hurt you, isn't it? I'd rather, you stop thinking about me. I'd rather b—"

"Be forgotten?" Anna interrupted, as though she'd purposefully practiced it.

I'm not as clever as I'd like to think. But that doesn't really matter.

"Y-yes," was my meek reply.

"Well, that's not your choice to make."

She paused for a single moment before continuing, a faint tremor on her lips.

"Life doesn't, work that way."

I caught a glimpse of Anna hunched over, shaking as she said those words. As if she was trying to make herself believe them too.

 

*

 

We got to her house sometime before dawn.

Anna pulled out a key from her skirt pocket and turned the lock with a loud click she didn't even attempt to disguise.

 

The house was dark, so very dark. It was early morning so that was to be expected. I wondered for a moment why such an obvious thing struck me as odd. Perhaps it wasn't about the house at all. Rather, it was the thought that a high school girl could arrive so late at night without fear of the worried faces of her mother and father. Something like that. . .

 

Anna led me up the stairs, past one room, then another, until we reached the door at the end of the hall. With a heavy-handed thud, she turned the knob and the two of us slipped inside. She opened a drawer from the nearby dresser and pulled out an oversized shirt I immediately recognized from the seven black stars emblazoned on the left breast.

"Here," she said, facing away from me, "you can wear this."

The shirt was set down in my hands with a sense of purpose, strategically done so our fingers wouldn't brush by accident. I acquiesced to the intention, bowing my head low. The fabric felt heavy in my hands. She pulled out the futon from beneath her bed as I changed in the corner. Through the sounds of cloth against cloth, the unzipping of my jacket punctuated the air.

"You sleep up top. I'll be down here." Her back was still turned to me.

"Are you sure?"

She proceeded to slump onto the floor, her face buried in the pillow. Though muffled, her words came out clear enough.

"I'm tired."

 

I carefully stepped over her body and onto the bed, creeping under the comforter as quickly as I could. The silk sheets were stiff with the chill of the air. Goosebumps bubbled on my skin.

I'd never so badly wanted to fall asleep without a word.

 

"You know..." Anna's voice cut through the cold, "it was Chika, who called me."

Something in my chest froze. I didn't know if it was what I remembered or what I was told, but I could, with some clarity, imagine what I had done. I could imagine all the people in the hospital.

"She was really scared."

And then the images came to life and I could see them, _feel_ them, the visceral physicality of the horrors I'd committed in all their gruesome detail, and it made me sick, sick, _sick_. Clenching the sheets with trembling white knuckles, I felt on the verge of vomiting. Chika, _Chika_ , if I hurt you _I_ —

"She was worried about you."

My fingers unclenched.

In a way it's worse. In a way it confirms all my expectations, at least, the hopes I'd hoped to God against. In a way it's simply another thing feeding into the thought that everyone would be better off if I had never been born.

_They would, wouldn't they. . ._

"Just thought you should know," she said.  _So don't misunderstand me._ "Goodnight"

"Goodnight."

I tried the best I could to muffle the sounds as my face burned hot and wet under the covers.

 

*

 

_February 1998_

 

It was as if I had changed over night, at least, that's what parents described it as. Even though I felt the same inside as I always did. When I committed myself to something, I always went all the way, 110%. The goal was just more obvious, I suppose. Or the results finally mattered to them, I don't know. I didn't do it for them. Running my legs into the ground seven days a week, fine-tuning each minuscule aspect of my diet, studying every free minute for the entrance exams, it was all for something else. Just to be in the same school, on the same team, on the same track. Like wishing upon a shooting star. And my wish was granted.

 

Halfway through winter, several weeks after the exams, I finally received my long-awaited acceptance letter. Holding the envelope in my hands, it really did feel like I had caught a falling star, as if magic truly danced through the sheets of crisp, otherworldly white fluttering between my fingers. Maybe like a miracle. . .

 

To congratulate me on this extraordinary success, my parents immediately planned a visit with our relatives in Tateshina. I was even able to convince them to let me skip classes for a couple of days, since there wasn't really any curriculum left until junior high graduation. Because all this was happening near the tail end of the Nagano Winter Olympics, giving us the rare and exciting opportunity to see some of the Games before journeying out to the nearby countryside to celebrate with our extended family. We were to leave Thursday, February 19, taking the 4 hour drive from Sumaru to Nagano the second I got out of school that day, staying overnight at a hotel in the city. On Friday, I was going to watch the women's figure skating finals, because of all the winter events, that was the one I had always been mesmerized by. The outfits, the choreography, the zeal of performance; I begged my parents to spectate. And they had obliged, not in any small part due to my recent acceptance into such a prestigious high school.

Actually, it had been my whole idea to stop by Nagano in the first place, having booked a single ticket with my own savings months before. I didn't know how I'd get there then, but I'd been so invigorated with all my training, beaming with that newfound spirit of sportsmanship, that I wasn't really thinking. Or maybe, that hot nervous energy permeating my whole being had been something else, something else entirely. . . because, one day, I hoped to enjoy the honor of coming here, to the Olympics, with a fellow student, a participating athlete...with Yoshizaka-san, with Anna. I hadn't even met her, yet I burned with the passion to see her compete in person. A fire that would light up the world stage, I could imagine it then...so I wanted to prepare myself for the crowds and the cheering, the loudness and pressure of it all, since this was such a rare occasion to easily experience everything this close to home. So I'd know what to expect...so I could make sure Anna knew what to expect. . . so she could do her very best. My thinking back then embarrasses me now. It was all so silly...such silly, dumb thoughts, so stupid. . . so so _stupid. . . . . . I hate that stupid little girl._

My parents left to go to walk around the city while I ran down to watch the free skate. I let my eyes scan over the crowds, taking in all the sights and sounds of the people busying by. People from all over the world, not just Japan. Not just this one little place.

 

I rubbed my gloved hands together and blew a hot breath in-between my fingers, huddling into myself for the security of warmth. And then I started walking to the entrance. . . only to stop again.

 

It truly is some sort of miracle, to see a lone star glittering in the expanse of nothingness. As if it shines just for you. That's what she looks like, standing in the crowds of people flooding in from this rink to that. Singular, solitary, far away from here, lost in some pamphlet held between her fingers. Just about to vanish without a trace.

 

And I can't afford to let miracles slip me by.

 

*

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last Edited: November 16, 2018  
> I've been working on this first chapter for a couple of months now and though it's still in progress, I wanted to at least post something. I really welcome any and all (good-intentioned) critique cuz this is my first time straight up writing something and I want to make sure it comes across without seeming too pretentious. Anyways, shout out to all my p2 friends!! You guys really inspire me, thanks for everything.


	2. from winter to spring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> enterlude  
> hello active heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _The joy I felt when I touched you_
> 
> _Went deep, deep down_
> 
> _And seeped into, into_
> 
> _Every nook and cranny of this body_
> 
>  
> 
> _Even if I'm far away_
> 
> _And no longer understand anything_
> 
> _Even when the time comes_
> 
> _For this life to end_
> 
>  
> 
> _Everything of now_
> 
> _Is everything of the past_
> 
> _We'll meet again, I'm sure_
> 
> _In some nostalgic place_
> 
>  
> 
> from "Memory of Life" by Kazumi Nikaido

The smell of cigarettes reminds me of being a kid. " _Hold your breath_ ," my mother used to say whenever we'd pass by a group huddled around a public ash tray.

She was your typical doctor afraid of secondhand smoke.

" _My father, my mother, all my aunts and uncles_ ," she told me, " _they smoked, usually several packs a day. I was exposed to so much of that, so I want to make sure at least_ you're _safe._ "

So whenever I recognized the smell of ash in the air, I'd hold my breath on reflex, Pure instinct. or maybe just out of habit. Because I did break it, when I had to.

 

The smell of a hospital always made me nervous, despite being a doctor's kid. That sterile atmosphere of isopropyl alcohol just sends shivers down my spine, even though I don't really have any bad memories associated with it (beyond the pricks of vaccinations and blood draws of course). Needles are always a bit scary.

I think it was that the smell meant something needed to be cleaned, and that meant something was dirty, decaying. The carrion filth of illness and injury, It's scary, waking up one day to find your body isn't the same, that it won't listen to you like it should.

" _Absolutely terrifying,_ " I thought.

Yes, I thought that was the worst. The smell used to be unsettling, just that, because I'd never really been hurt myself. But there was a time it cut my breath short, the feeling of a fist lodged in my chest. 

 

 

*

 

 

"Yo-YOSHIZAKA-SAN!!"

 

The far-off girl looks up, her eyes wide as she frantically searches around.

 

"Over HERE!" I yell, waving my arms in a criss-cross pattern. I feel stupid. I feel so _so_ stupid; but I just can't shake the grin stretched taut across my face. It makes my cheeks ache and my head spin and I end up light-headed and giddy, no care in the world.

 

Anna finally finds me flailing about and our eyes meet, locking into place. She frowns. Out of confusion or irritation, I can't guess, but her gaze is far more severe in person, and I freeze mid-wave, my face still plastered with that silly grin as it flushes white hot.

Her pout relaxes back into a line as she strides past all the hustle and bustle of the crowds, cutting a path straight to me.

"Do I, know you?" she asks, mere centimeters from my face. _What was I thinking?!_

"Uh, no, but um...I'm—" Half-baked sentiments clog my throat as the line of her mouth tightens.

" _I'm_. . ."

She's staring now, examining my every move, judging me by my twitchy blinks and the cracks in my voice and the way I can't look her in the eyes and—

"I'm a big fan! Of you, that is. . ."

Her mouth eases.

"Ah....I see." It calms my nerves knowing this sort of thing seems to be a common occurrence.

"You're Anna Yoshizaka, right?"

There's a nod.

"I know you hear this all the time," I start to stammer, "but. . . you really inspire me. You and your running, you're just...incredible!" The words break off a bit too high and reverberate in the air. My body stays fixed in place, frozen once again. _Why do I have to be so annoying?_ All I can so is stare at Anna, waiting for her to step away, her lips pulled back in a cringe. So I'm quick to spot that very subtle shift in her expression.

 

It's a smile. An easy, quick one, small and simple, maybe more out of sympathy than anything, but a smile nonetheless. A smile, for me. . .

The thought burns just a little too hot and I feel it in my face.

"And you are?"

"Noriko Katayama," I reply politely. "I'm attending Seven Sisters soon, as a freshman." Having been given a second chance, I try to make the most of it.

"Where you headed right now?" she asks.

"The women's figure skating finals."

"Oh...me too."

"Really?" I mean the question to sound affirmative, rhetorical, but my own confusion bleeds into it.

She turns away, rubbing her neck apologetically.

"Well, my mom wanted me to watch speed skating with her but. . ."

Her voice falters and the thought just remains hanging in the air, forever unfinished. But the intention is understandable enough. At least, I understand.

Still, the silence afterward lingers, awkward and out of place. I must have caught her at a bad time. She just wanted to relax without having the spotlight on her for once. Wanted to watch the Olympics alone, in peace and I ruined it for her.

"Wanna watch together?"

"What?"

"The women's free skate," she answers. "The finals, I mean." I listen to the words die out in a sigh.

"Y'know....it's been pretty boring the past few days, seeing the same stuff over and over with only my mom." Anna's staring at her feet.

"Oh, well then...I'd love to!" I understand _._ "To join you, that is. If you don't mind of course."

She smiles again.

"I asked first, didn't I?"

And so, that's how I find myself following Anna Yoshizaka through the ticket gates and into White Ring stadium.

 

We get lucky with the seating; in exchange for Anna's premium ticket, the solitary man next to me gives up his general admission seat quite eagerly. The stands are packed and that was the one bit of leverage we had.

"Are you sure you don't want to sit up front?" I ask. "You really don't have to go through the trouble for me."

"What difference does it make." A statement, not a question.

She clicks her tongue. "Besides, this was my idea, not yours. Stop worrying about it."

 

I decide to keep quiet after that. And Anna's right, the view of the ice from the middle row is clear and unobstructed. A closer look wouldn't have yielded much more.

We witness many skaters perform, a cascade of dancer after dancer on the frozen stage.  There's Shizuka Arakawa from Japan and Lu Chen from China, and of course the favored American contender Michelle Kwan. By mid-competition, the rink radiates an atmosphere glazed with sharp bits of itself, cold and crystalline, shards of the frigid floor allowed to freely float around, the shrapnel fallout from so many clashes between skates and ice. It's been making it harder and harder to breathe, even from far away, high up in the stands. Though that could just be the pressure of so much competition crammed into such a small space. Either way, the claustrophobia is palpable, something you could taste on your tongue. It's uncomfortable. The only warmth I feel in here emanates from the girls skating below, and the girl sitting right beside me. To be honest, I end up watching Anna more than any of the other athletes, gauging her reactions to each spectacle. _This time together is special,_ I think as I steal side glances between the routines. _Being with her right here, right now, it really is a miracle_. In these moments, I treasure her small smiles (and even her scowls) above everything else. Things this warm are limited. . . the universe is a mostly cold place, far colder than anything here on earth

 

After the flurry of sweat and tears has chilled in the air and on the ice, the winners and losers are all decided.

Those judged worthy enough to be blessed with medals stand on the podium like sacred statues: Chen Lu in bronze, Michelle Kwan in silver, and Tara Lipinski in gold. The Olympic Champion shines like a princess straight out of a fairy tale. This is the happy ending she won herself.

 

"The one with the backflip was my favorite," says Anna as we walk down the stairs towards the exit. "That takes guts."

"You mean Surya Bonaly? Yeah, it's gutsy, in more ways than one. . ."

"Hmm?"

"She was suffering the effects of an old achilles injury, that's why she struggled so much. She landed the backflip on her good leg."

"Oh...well, I hope she still placed alright because it. . . or something."

"Unfortunately, backflips have been banned since the 70's. What she did was technically illegal, so she got no points for it. Probably received a deduction instead."

"That's _bullshit_." Venom drips from her teeth.

I understand why Anna's mad, but it still seems strange to me. Fair and unfair are things humans made up, so who are we to judge. It's got nothing to do with us.

Sometimes it doesn't matter what you do or how hard you try, they'll never let you win. But that's okay, winning isn't everything. It's just the only thing that matters to some....people.

"Are you going back to Sumaru after this?" Anna asks me.

"Ah, we're actually just stopping through here before we visit my aunt's inn in Chino."

"An, inn?" Anna seems to think it over a minute before asking, "Can I come with you?"

"Wh-what. . ." The question fails to register in my brain. "Why?"

"I told you, didn't I? It's gotten so boring here. I'll pay for my room, of course."

"Oh no, you don't need to worry about that. . . But shouldn't you ask your mother first?"

"It's ok. She lets me do whatever." An automatic answer.

 

*

 

My parents and I had moved to Sumaru after my grandfather died. There wasn't anything left in Chino to keep my mother there, that she thought was worth staying for, so she and my father had finally decided to leave the countryside and search of a new residence in the city. They found a humble two-story home in Hirasaka, the working class district. From our small backyard on top of the hill, we had the most spectacular view of the city's scenery, all the buildings and trees and houses spread out in front of us, a landscape framed by the distant Mt. Katatsumuri. ' _Picture-perfect_ ', I'd mused to myself, noticing it immediately when we moved in, for I was relieved at the sight of familiar mountains over the far more foreign ocean view I'd been expecting. Back then, the sea was unknown, foreboding. I guess, it still is.

The first thing my mother did in that backyard was replant her orange rose, the one that had been in the garden outside her father's window back at the old inn by Lake Shirakaba. Outside the room he stayed in after he'd finally been discharged from the hospital, sent home on hospice. The same room he'd passed away in while I'd been busy playing with my toys.

My mother told me that my grandfather loved flowers. That when she and her sisters were little girls, during the spring and summer and even early autumn, he'd pick big bunches of the wild ones that grew on the green grass fields surrounding their home. That whenever he'd travel outside the rolling hills of Tateshina (he was a social worker after all), he'd always come back with a bouquet of exotic blooms, beautiful flowers that couldn't be found on those local hillsides. Every Friday, like a weekly ritual, there'd always be some kind of colorful mix of fresh blossoms brought to decorate the vase at the center of their dining table.

I was four years old the first time I stepped into a flower shop, when my mother took me to help pick some out  for his funeral.

" _Which were his favorite?_ " I'd asked.

I hadn't been given the opportunity to know him very well.

" _Carnations_."

My mother spoke with a warm fondness.

" _Red carnations._ "

It snowed on the day we went to the cemetery. Red on white, I remember. An immaculate grave, pure and clean and colorless. That was how we found it when we'd first arrived. It was my mother who stained that barren place with bloody, scarlet buds, fresh wounds in the December frost. I never saw her cry for him then, but I remember every small, hushed sob that happened in the years after. I told her I didn't understand. She just smiled and bought me a book about flowers.

 

My mother bought me lots of books, mostly about natural phenomena. I learned so much from reading those tomes, so many intriguing wonders of this world, both the terrifying and the miraculous Those two feelings always seemed to blend at the edges. . . I committed all of it to physical memory, whole other worlds woven into my body. Beyond flowers, topics included things like animals, astronomy, and anatomy.

When my mother gave me that first book about the human body, she told me more about her father. How he'd been pressured into medical school by his parents and teachers, but quit because he had the predisposition to faint at the sight of blood. How he'd almost had a heart attack when his eldest daughter decided to go into medicine. How despite that, he'd been so proud of her, when at last she earned her license to practice. ' _Finally our family has someone who can actually treat my arthritis!_ ' he'd laughed. At least, that's what my mother told me. Sometimes, I wondered why such stories were important to tell.

" _So we don't forget_ ," my mother recited. Her voice had all the devotion of a hymn.

 

*

 

The first sound out of my mouth that morning was the usual sigh. I'd awoken to cracks of grey sunlight flitting about my eyes, harsh and cold, and known exactly where I was. As my vision cleared, the time on the nearby clock came into focus: 11:07 AM.

Nobody had come in to wake us up, but I suppose that was to be expected.

I let another sigh slip past my lips. There was a tenseness in my left lung, the membrane pulled just a bit too tight to breathe easily. But I was used to it. It wasn't a physical problem and there wasn't even any pain, but still, it was an uncomfortable feeling. As if my body was being compressed into a more convenient shape. Forcing an exhale tended to be the only thing that let my chest feel less constricted. And more often than not, it came out like a sigh rather than a deep breath. Either way it helped most of the time, let me relax and refocus. Enough to get out of bed at least.

I leaned over the edge of the mattress to find Anna fast asleep. She was stone-still, the only hints of motion resting in the heartbeat of the blankets and the occasional twitch of an eyelid. All I could do was sit and stare. Even now there was something in my chest that stung, choking off my breath. So I tried to distance myself, leave my own body. Just focus on the rhythm of Anna's breathing instead, the constant rise and fall that shows she's okay. Or at least, still alive. Those are two very different things.

It was about noon when I found Anna on top of me.

My mind had been so far off, I didn't realize until the blood was pounding hard and fast under my skin, her weight pinning my body to the floor. The reverb of her heart pressed down on me, thrumming in tandem with mine. Quick as it came, her fury melted into recognition. I understood then.

"Good morning!" I managed to sputter. After the initial shock, my pulse started to steadily fall back to a more reasonable pace.

"Sorry," she said, turning away from me as she got up. "I forgot." She held a hand to her head, swooning from the early morning exertion.

Anna wasn't used to anyone in her room. Especially when she woke up.

"It's ok." My voice was small.

"How long have you been sitting there?" _How long have you been watching me?_

"Not long! Only half an hour or so. I overslept, I—"

I realized how thirsty I was. Anna was waiting for me to speak, hanging on the half-finished thought.

"I didn't want to disturb you, Sister."

With that, she just let out a sigh. I wanted to shrink into oblivion.

"School. . . it's over by now, right? Today's Saturday. . ." The words tasted dry and woody as they left my mouth, like the air inside some hollowed-out tree. Empty. Devoid of meaning.

"School?" Anna looked at me almost accusingly. "Did you want to go?"

I shook my head. "Actually, I really don't want to go...but. . . I inconvenienced everyone. . . some people are even hospitalized because of me. . ." My hands trembled as I clenched them close to my chest. "I wonder what I'd see if I went there. . ."

"Then you don't have to go."

"But—"

"Whether or not you want to go and see, if you decide for yourself, that's it."

Something in my chest opens, just a crack.

"That's my Sister, so cool. . ."

"What."

"The way you can act clearly with your own will...it's impossible for me. Even if I don't want to go to school, I still worry about things like grades or what my parents will say. . ."

Anna gave a faint nod, probably out of pity. After all, it's not her fault I'm such a weak person.

 

We ate a late breakfast of microwaved rice and miso soup. There had also been leftovers for some kind of lunch, but I barely had enough appetite for the rice, picking at the grains with an unsteady hand.

"Are you still searching for Tatsuya?" I asked.

Anna shook her head. An immediate, unmeasured response.

"Not anymore."

_Did she already find him? No, her resignation makes that clear. And it wouldn't be like her to give up on him. Maybe it's more like....he's lost, somewhere she can't reach. . ._

I didn't push the issue. It was her business and I'd bothered her enough. The rest of the meal passed in silence.

"Do you want to pick up some clean clothes?" asked Anna.

"Yes, I probably should."

"I have to check up on some things around town, so you can go home now and come back later. . . Do you want me to walk you to the train station?"

_Yes._

"No no, that's fine." I tried to brush away the gesture with a smile. "Just, take care of whatever you need to do. I'll be fine."

"Okay," she said, "but please, stay safe."

I nodded for her sake.

 

On the subway to Hirasaka, having far too much time to idle inside my own head, I recalled what Anna had said the other night, about Chika. _She was worried about you._ The mere thought made me shudder. Chika Ueda. Chikarin. I remembered when I first met her, how her eyes shone a pure green, round and edgeless. Frosted smooth as the sea glass washed up on the shore, having finally floated up from long-forgotten shipwrecks. or just careless littering, who's to say. She'd surprised me. So unlike anybody I'd known before. She was interesting. And not just because she was "quirky" or a bit scatterbrained (though those parts of her did have their charm). She was genuinely interesting. Observant, thoughtful, both in her kindness and in something a bit harder to place. Her smiles felt authentic yet there was also a suggestive quality to them. A finesse that could tug at the seams of secrets, unraveling them thread by thread. And with a wit honed sharp enough to split a hair, she'd slice through every strand of hearsay she heard until she had what she wanted. I knew her well enough to know that, even if I'd never be able to understand her.  Light and airy, sea foam green, so much different from the harsh blue of the open ocean. Less scary but also. . . I don't know, the lack of something I thought was important, at least to me. Maybe another girl would actually appreciate that, a smarter girl. Chika was smart. That's what let her be free as the wind, light as air. Nothing like me.

 

After exiting the train at my stop, I took some time to gaze past the closing doors, the people still squeezed tight behind them. Like a moment of meditation...or had it been closer to a prayer? Maybe it was something even more meaningless than that. In that moment I'd imagined leaving my thoughts behind with those strangers, leaving them to travel far away from me.

 

*

 

Every hospital feels the same, smells the same, looks the same. So it's hard for me to say why, why I remember that one room so differently. The same alcohol breeze fluttering in with the basic hum of A.C. The same tall windows framed with translucent, white-grey curtains that let in streams of cold light. A bed and a table, one chair and a couch ( _for visitors_ ). A vase with familiar flowers. But. . . it was all absolutely, completely different. The circular buzz of the air-conditioner that skirted every sixteen seconds ( _or was it seventeen_ ), scars on the linoleum where the steel bed-frame scuffed the floor, fading paint on the wall with two white splotches at the bedside, three by the window, ( _a constellation committed to heart_ ), written well-wishes all scattered on the side-table ( _the same name scrawled out on each one_ ), pillow propped up for sitting straight ( _instead of for sleeping_ ), and the loose blanket that clung flimsily to a shape barely resembling a leg. Because she wouldn't let me look at her, let me look her in the eyes. Her face was turned. When I did see those eyes, caught a glimpse as she turned, I had to look away ( _a lake frozen solid in spring)_. I couldn't get through to her, I was too afraid. I've always been a coward, afraid of needles even as a doctor's daughter. This stung worse, ached worse, a hand slid in between my ribs and itchy with hesitance, poised like a pickpocket. I wanted it to finish the job. I wanted this to end. But there was no such release ( _nothing like a pinprick_ ). I averted my eyes and tried to capture every detail in that room, so I wouldn't have to think, so I could forget for a moment the reality in front of me. Memorizing every thing that wasn't her. . . even though I ended up remembering all the same.

 

*

 

_April 27, 1998_

_Dear Diary,_

_You know what today is? My 16th birthday of course!! You know, it actually rained for the first time this season. On the plus side, practice was canceled, giving me ample time to finish my homework before I went out with my parents for our customary dinner. On the more negative side, practice was canceled, so I wouldn't be able to see Anna or tell her it was my birthday today or anything fun like that. I'd just wanted to see her reaction, at the very least. The thought of that single missed opportunity had soured my mood, ignoring my other, glaring problem: I didn't bring an umbrella. In my excitement for this big day, I'd forgotten to check the weather report and plan accordingly. Completely unprepared, I was sentenced to trudge home through a curtain of heavy rain, doomed to be drenched. On my birthday._

_I remember despairing the exact second I'd heard the beginnings of the white noise of water droplets that then pelted the classroom windows. . ._

 

It had been only drizzling just earlier, a few drops here and there, but it hadn't taken long before the sound had grown incessant in its volume.

Standing under the awning at the school's entrance, I could smell the stench of wet asphalt, always so much stronger than the more soothing scents of spring rain. My feet just wouldn't move.

 

"Forgot an umbrella?" The words dance between raindrops with a warm sort of sarcasm. That load weighing down my heart, the burden holding me back, it lightens as the warmth flushes through me. Brandishing a black-blue umbrella, Anna leans on the wall between the entrance and the shoe racks. She's loitering with all the confidence of those alleyway punks who think they're hot shit, but it really does suit her, so I can't complain. It's a little bit cute. . . anyways it's just an image, right? I know her better than that.

 

_Of course._

 

"Yes. . ."

"Wanna walk home with me? I live close by."

I nod my head quick as a hummingbird's wings.

"Ok, ok...alright then."

"Sorry, I'm just a bit excited."

"Any reason in particular?"

"Today, it's. . . my birthday, and it ended up raining and all...so I'm happy someone offered to walk me home—especially _you_ , of all people!"

"Hmm..."

Maybe I said too much for her to take in or maybe it's just a silly sentiment. The line between boldness and embarrassment is something I still don't quite understand, so I hush and shush, quiet as she unfurls the blue-black shroud that shelters us both. And from there, we proceed to march through the rain with all the silence of a funeral procession.

Had I ever expected that sharing an umbrella would be so austere? Somewhere in the back of my mind echoed a resounding "YES". This was Anna after all. Maybe I'd secretly been hoping she'd like it when it rained. A hope built on no evidence whatsoever.

 

We pass by a flower shop.

"Oh wait, I need to stop here for something," Anna says.

She appears quite perplexed looking over the vast variety of blooms available. Her eyes seem to flick between the flowers and me, as if searching for my approval. Her gaze freezes me in place whenever it fixes upon me, because I can't understand what exactly she wants, what she expects of me. I wince as she frowns, after she'd probably realized my utterly clueless expression wouldn't change. A brief apologetic stare barely stops me from feeling completely useless.

After that last look, her eyes dart back towards the plants, all her concentration now focused on them.

Her frustration seems to deepen as she mumbles something low and soft, almost imperceptibly so.

". . . feel like I should remember more about this. . ."

Ultimately selecting a rather random assortment of flowers, she ends up walking off with a bundle of what looks like lilacs, larkspurs, and hyacinths, all washed in cool hues of pastel pink and periwinkle. Soft shades of violet lavender and lily white blend between the colors. The overall result is obscenely adorable, the perfect combination of light, fluffy, and saccharine. Anna looks awkward as she carries this beautiful medley of blossoms she seemed to have arranged by pure magic (and perhaps a bit of beginner's luck). I can't resist laughing a little.

"What's so funny?" she asks, some mild irritation masked by an almost puppy-like expression.

"Sorry, it's just, the difference between image and reality, it surprised me. . ."

Her brow just furrows deeper with confusion.

"I-I mean, not in a bad way. . . It's cute!"

Anna blinks twice. Her faces relaxes, the tension in it now gone, but she still stares straight at me, wide-eyed and maybe a bit stunned. 'Did I say something wrong?' I think, a twinge of nervousness in my stomach. But upon closer inspection, I see that somehow, her blue eyes have lit up, just a little. It's a look that lasts but a second, before she quickly severs the stare, moving an indifferent gaze out onto the misty grey horizon. She purses her lips.

"It's nothing special, I'm—"

Her voice breaks off before finishing.

"Hm?"

"It's nothing. . ."

Right then and there, some part of me starts dreaming up ways to make those cold eyes brighten up again.

 

A sudden gust of wind slices the air, trying to tear the umbrella away from Anna's grasp. Neither Anna nor the wind are willing to yield and the innocent umbrella pays the price: raw tension snaps the joints holding up the canopy, reducing the supposedly weatherproof thing into a crumpled mess of metal and plastic. She tosses it onto the wet cement before kicking it into the bushes. A cascade of collected raindrops tumbles down those verdant leaves.

Fresh water douses Anna's hair. She places the flowers gently on the sidewalk, her long fingers dripping beads of rain onto the crinkled plastic that holds them together. For a moment, having lost that pitter-pattering rhythm on nylon netting, I just focus on the water running over those reels of glassy cellophane. A subtle warping of sound and color.

In one fluid motion, the single knot around Anna's collar is undone, the blood-orange bow flicked away, the inky sailor jacket zipped off. Revealed is the crisp, white turtleneck underneath. I notice how her clavicles stand out near her neck, right where the water has begun seeping into the fabric, bleeding dark like runs in paper. At least, that's where I try to point my attention towards, while the shapely silhouette of a black sports bra shows through the soaked shirt.

"Here, put this over your head. . ."

"A-are you sure?"

"When I say something, I mean it." _I don't do things halfway._

 _"_ Sorry for doubting you. . ." I respond, pulling the jacket over me like a hood.

"I don't believe in ' _sorry_ ' either. I trust you."

 _What?_ I turn to look up at her while keeping myself hidden under the cloak.

"I trust you to remember. That's more important to me than an apology."

"Ah yeah, that makes sense. _Sor_ —I mean, I understand." To this she responds with a rather sheepish smile.

"That's it."

The jacket drips water onto me from time to time as we continue walking, but it ultimately protects me from the harsher wind and rain, so I appreciate it. But honestly, it wouldn't have mattered either way; it's the gesture that means more to me. So much more.

We end up at Anna's house first, since it's the closest to the school. She hands me the bouquet to hold while she ducks inside to get me another umbrella. I cradle the flowers as tenderly as a newborn infant, waiting for Anna to return. It all seems so silly but I can't stop grinning. My cheeks start to sting by the time Anna finally comes back, now sporting a black umbrella with rainbow polka dots. I suppose this one is used for slightly more lively processions of the dead.

"Here, you go."

"Thank you so much, for everything, Onee-sama." I wish I could tell her exactly what she's given, how it means more than than the world to me.

"Hm? It wasn't that much. You better hurry home before things get worse."

"Right! Right...anyways, here. . . the flowers you bought." I move to place the bouquet back in her arms. She moves to refuse the gesture.

"Oh, those are for you. I didn't know it was your birthday so I wanted to at least get you...something."

_Huh?_

"I hope you like them..."

"I. . . I _love_ them! Thank you so _so_ much!!" I feel the tears already welling up inside, but I try to retain my composure.

"It's nothing, really. Happy Birthday Noriko."

I practically skip all the way home, my arms heavy and my heart light.

 

_In the end, the rain gave greatest gift I could have asked for._

_Even though I come down with a cold the next day._

_Anyways, ~~sorry for talking so much~~  thank you for listening! Hope to speak more with you soon._

 

_Love,_

片山典子

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last Edited: November 16, 2018  
> I know what I'm doing but also I don't know what I'm doing? Anyways, this has been a lot of fun and I still need to add to this chapter but I'm tired and swamped by school right now, so please enjoy what this is so far. Please feel free to comment and critique!


	3. overflow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a flood & a drowning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _If you be my boat I'll be your sea_
> 
> _A depth of pure blue just to probe curiosity_
> 
> _Ebbing and flowing and pushed by a breeze_
> 
> _I live to make you free_
> 
> _I live to make you free_
> 
> _But you can set sail to the west if you want to_
> 
> _And past the horizon till I can't even see you_
> 
> _Far from here where the beaches are wide_
> 
> _Just leave me your wake to remember you by_
> 
>  
> 
> from "Boats & Birds"
> 
>  

I shut the little girl's diary and returned it to the desk drawer, allowing the memories to settle down in the dust where they belonged. It really is useless remembering things time has already forgotten, things like yesterday's weather, April rain or August sun. Things that no longer matter in this world. People tend to decide that for you without your permission, because they don't think it's polite to wait for something that will never come back (if that something even existed in the first place). They want you to pay attention the first time. I understood that now. Not so long ago, I used to be a little less virtuous. " _The world can't be so cruel,"_ I'd thought _, "People just don't try hard enough!"_ But when it comes to most things in this world, there really is nothing you can do.

 

My eyes wandered aimlessly around my childhood bedroom, taking in the old-fashioned decor and all the things crammed high to the ceiling, stuffed animals and clothes and books and years of piled up memorabilia. The air was stale and the drawn-closed curtains added a layer of sickly darkness to the place. It was by no means a tiny room, I was quite privileged to have one so large, but it still felt cramped, stifling. You couldn't fit a world in here.

 

I'd been relieved to find the driveway empty, the door locked, the house devoid of all sound, light, and movement. My parents were probably out looking for me. In my mind flashed the memory of a track practice that ran too late, how when I got home my mother cried and my father yelled at me for having worried her. They'd run all over town, thinking something terrible had happened to me. They'd even called the police. I hadn't thought much of it, thought I'd get the usual chiding and then be allowed to sulk into my room to do the things I actually cared about. But they ended up grounding me for two weeks straight. To be honest though, I wasn't that upset. They hadn't hindered my plans much, if at all. I still sat alone in my room, playing "make-believe" in my own tiny world. If anything, it was just a reminder that they'd always see me as a child.

I was in no mood for some long-winded lecture today, so it was a good thing, being able to slip inside without the fear of running into them.

 

Anyways, having picked up what was needed, I made my exit. Going down, the stairs rumbled with a cacophony of ominous noise. I should have been expecting them, creaks and moans trickling between the unsteady steps of my own footfall, yet somehow they sent my heart skipping lightning-fast. At the last thunderous crack of wood on wood, I heaved a sigh of relief. Was I afraid someone in the house might hear? The thought made me feel like some teenager sneaking out in the middle of the night. But it was just past noon on a Sunday, and there was nobody there. I ran out the front door fast as I could.

 

As a kid, around the time when we first moved to Sumaru, there were moments when I'd have this sort of daydream, the same one each day as I walked up the steps of our new home after school. A daydream where I'd just zone out completely, my brain leaving my body behind as I soared above the sky right into space. And from there, I could see myself just standing on Earth, like an ant, but even more minuscule. Like a cell or even an atom. Infinitesimal, close to approaching complete nonexistence. But I wasn't afraid. It didn't scare me, it didn't make me sad or mad. Rather, it felt like that single moment was a miracle, that it was miraculous something as small and insignificant as I even existed to experience it at all. In spite of all the infinite, random events that could have happened or not happened in this immensely vast universe, my life had come to be. Truly miraculous. That's what I used to think. At other times, I'd feel the world as some super-colossal simulation on the verge of an oblivion state. Like a failed experiment that had reached its conclusion long, long ago, ready to end, to collapse into itself with the next blink of my unimportant eye. Singularity. The fundamental laws governing reality would not allow a concept like "Noriko Katayama" to actually exist. That didn't scare me either. I understood.

 

*

 

Anna arrives at my family's hotel room early Saturday morning, rings of sleepiness still circling her eyes. She yawns once on our way to the car and promptly passes out the second she flops down, not one word exchanged between the two of us. But I'm wide awake, some strange energy still thrumming through my body, buzzing between the live wires of my nervous system. I sit bolt upright while my mind races on electricity.

I'd been under the impression my parents had planned the trip to Tateshina that winter to show me off. ' _See? Our daughter just got accepted into one of the best schools in our prefecture! She's a perfect city girl with a big bright future, unlike you country bumpkins_.'

Now my parents probably wouldn't say that last part right to the faces of my aunts and uncles and cousins, but it was their underlying intention all the same. Maybe it should have bothered me more, but at that point, I'd just accepted it. That was the way things were. Because I was so comfortable, so confident in my role, such a simple thing. Clear, safe, easy to understand. Because I just had to play the part of a dutiful daughter. That was all that was expected of me. It was even written in my name, Noriko, "child of law". A girl ruled by rules. It was all so simple. . . I did it without thinking. Imagine this: a middle-schooler climbing a treadmill while practicing the violin and reading a textbook. The epitome of multitasking. It was my father who walked in on the scene.

" _My perfect little princess!_ " he'd chortled, a laugh laced with paternal pride. Yes, he laughed then and he laughs even more now, and I don't blame him. It was quite the picture. But, as for me, I'd always been completely serious, always focused on making sure I was doing everything I was supposed to. Athletics and arts and academics, a well-rounded girl destined for great things. Nice and neat and perfect.

I wonder, what changed. . .

 

I have to make sure not to trouble Anna with any of this familial drama, it would just scare her off, leave a bad impression impossible to recover from. But while the thoughts had been easy enough to ignore before, they now seem to be constantly brewing in the back of my mind, gnawing at my nerves like some insect larva burrowing straight through the grey matter to incubate within. It itches, it squirms. It drills into my brainstem and crawls down my spine. It makes its home in the small of my back, an abscess squeezed tight between two vertebrae. And it keeps eating at me, that eyeless, earless thing, breaking me down bit by bit. Yet, no matter how much it rips and unravels the fleshy fibers of my insides, I have to make sure it doesn't breach the skin's surface. I have to make sure it doesn't stir the sleeping girl beside me. So I try to remember the events of the other night. . .

 

I remember Shizuka Arakawa, the lithe 16-year-old who'd been the first one to swing out onto the ice, her skirt fluttering around peach-pale thighs as bladed heels shaved off peels of rime. The Japanese champion. In her crimson ensemble she resembled a single red poppy peaking out from the early spring snow, young and freshly alive. I gave one glance across the rink to see the Emperor grinning ear to ear. Beyond that, all my focus shifted to the girl onstage.

Arakawa's performance was beautiful, without a doubt, but I couldn't call it completely graceful, at least in comparison to some skaters I'd seen before. Something askew with her line and posture. Her movements felt a bit stilted, lacking cohesion, that certain sort of effortless flow. She was rough and unpolished, talent like the facets of a half-cut gem. It's a promising kind of beauty, something you could cultivate with hard work and time. A bud still germinating. One tumble near the end forced me to wince, but she picked herself up and finished with a semblance of grace. It still made me feel somewhat embarrassed, as if I was the one who'd fallen, not her. She ended up finishing in 13th place.

 

I remember Michelle Kwan, clad in velvety periwinkle, the first of the two American superstars making her entrance, cutting a delicately defined line. Just a year older than Arakawa but she carried herself differently, more firmly. Her face glowed with a sunny sort of confidence, well-rounded, honey-gold. Having placed first in the short program several nights ago, she had stood as the current leader.

Her routine was stunning, nearly flawless. It all came so smoothly, naturally, her body carving an elegant, self-assured shape across the ice. She'd been all smiles, relaxed and at ease even while poised with such delicacy. There was no excess, no movement wasted. Her hardest jump, a triple lutz on tired legs, landed perfectly with the ecstasy of satisfaction shining through her face, propelling her through the final stretch of the program. She looked so happy. For some reason, in that single moment, she reminded me of Anna, her expression when she crossed the finish line. They were all but exactly alike. Because Kwan cried soon afterwards, and I can't imagine Anna doing anything like that.

 

I remember Lu Chen, a woman in her early twenties gliding upon the ice, her long-sleeved uniform a deep maroon. A mature figure, she held herself with a sophistication distinct from her younger rivals.

The artistry of her skating was on par with Kwan's, her arms sweeping fluid arcs like a swan adjusting its wings in the wind. Her whole body swayed in skillful balance with each motion. There had been a few blips here and there though, with the jumps and technical elements. A slight problem with precision. Nevertheless her performance exuded an air of professionalism, the privilege of being a seasoned competitor, World Champion in 1995. Kwan edging past her for the 1996 title hadn't changed that. At the end of it all, Chen sobbed with the same joy as the girl before her. Her reaction was even more immediate, more emotional. She collapsed into a heap on the ground, holding her head in her hands.

 

And I remember Tara Lipiniski, the other American sweetheart, that silver-laced dress shimmering a brilliant azure against her fair skin as she floated along all angel-like. Her face had sparkled so clean, free of blemishes, complete with a charming smile painted pink and the cheeks blushed just right. A real doll of a skater, posed like one of those music box ballerinas. 15 years old, a girl my age. I wondered at first if she'd been crafted from porcelain or plastic.

Either way, she'd been perfect. Beautiful, immaculate, without any technical fault. Her body had met all expectations, waltzing in harmony with the music, acquiescing to each and every dulcet note. That whole routine of hers resonated with itself so melodiously, a marriage of artfulness and euphonic form. It was the work of a true virtuoso, that holy union between pure talent and raw effort all athletes dream of. An absolutely gorgeous performance. . . Her victory had been well-deserved.

 

Chen, Kwan, and Lipinski, those had been been the three medalists.

 

But I also remember Anna's favorite, Surya Bonaly, the woman who'd swept the stage so gracefully, stretching tall with hands high above her head. It almost looked as if she was carrying the sky, the way she glittered that soft blend of blue and gold with the plum-warm umber of her arms exposed upwards to be bitten by the cold, glassy air. Almost. Her smile was too earnest, too free. Unfettered to anyone else's expectations. At least, that's the impression I got.

But she stumbled on her first triple salchow and under-rotated several jumps afterwards. It was to be expected; coming back from and achilles injury is next to impossible. She'd gotten this far purely from her own work ethic, almost punishing her body with every workout, triple after triple after triple. A titanic effort to say the least. I knew that much. I also knew that the judges never liked her style all that well, the dissonant breaks in choreography before her jumps. They preferred a seamless flow from element to element rather than practiced feats of athletic power. They preferred ice princesses, like Tara Lipiniski ( _like Yuka Sato_ ). Bonaly just didn't fit the type. She'll never fit the type. And that's why she does the backflip. Because the crowd knows what it means and they love her for it, gasping and clapping and cheering until the very end. She finishes her program facing the audience, her back to the judges' panel. They awarded her the honor of 10th place.

 

I understood why Anna had been rooting for her. I'd glanced at the girl next to me and seen the flash of recognition in her eyes. Personal, intimate, like how a person examines themself in a mirror, but with far more respect, more reverence. Like admiring a person you love from a distance. I understood because I'd been looking at her the same way.

 

We arrive at my eldest aunt's inn around noon. It's right on the waterfront, reflections of the winter sun glinting off Lake Shirakaba and onto wooden beams and stone stairs.

"Nori- _chan_! You've grown so tall!!"

"Ha, you always say that Auntie..."

The older woman gives me a big bear hug as soon as I jump out of the car.

"Ah, and who is this fine young lady?" she asks, a smile warming upon her face, "A friend?"

The girl beside me peers at the woman with a dazed glow in her eyes.

"It's Anna," she responds.

' _Short and sweet, huh_ ,' I half laugh, half hum in my head. Maybe I was just a bit too pleased with myself.

In the main house, all my cousins are bustling about as they gather around the table for lunch. I'm greeted to cheers of " _No-No!_ " and " _Ri-Ri!_ " and every other affectionate nickname they've made up for me through the years. The legacy of being the oldest cousin I suppose, even if I'm not around that much.

"It's been so lonely without you!" one of them shouts. It's the girl closest to my own age, the one I once thought of as a friend who'd chosen me rather than a relative bound by obligation. We were such little kids back then.

It's a strange feeling, to be missed by someone else. Most of my family lives together out here in the highlands so I don't really know why they'd mourn the absence of a single member.

"I missed you guys too," I reply with a smile. It isn't a lie, but it still feels wrong to return a sentiment with less love than it was given. Love. It's such a strange thing.

 

I take an opening after this to usher Anna off to the side.

"Want to go ice skating?" I ask, "Like everyone last night. . ."

"Ice skating? There's a rink in a town this tiny?"

"Not here, but not too far. It's at Lake Suwa."

"We're gonna skate on the  _lake_?"

I shake my head.

"It's just nearby, an indoor rink. People used to be able to skate on the lake itself, but the winters keep getting warmer and warmer."

 

*

 

I hate the beach, the sand and salt and sea, all terrible. The first time I swam in the ocean was in Sumaru, Ebisu Beach. I remember water, alkaline, ruthlessly cold, the scrape of salt in my throat, sand in my skin. It had been fun at first, frigid but new, exciting. I liked the damp grains on my fingers and toes, wading waist-deep in the coolness of something freshly unfamiliar. To freeze and then sit in the sun, feel my skin glowing under a clear sky. That was the kind of day it was.  Until a stray wave caught me and pulled me under, filled my mouth and throat with harsh liquid, pushed me to the bottom against rocks sharp as glass. My eyes stung with salt, having been forced open as I lay witness to grey-brown murk rife with deathless debris. No glittering scales or shells or stray bits of seaweed; not a single sign of life.  More barren than a desert. 

Even now, it hurts just the same, the pain of coughing up brine edged with gravel, rough raw burning, but also. . . the pressure, the indifference, being buried beneath a liquid monolith weighing untold times my size. The weight of a world so much bigger than me.

 

*

 

' _Where should I go from here?_ ' The question echoed in my head, replaying over and over again with no answer as I forced my feet to move faster than thought. The places I'd frequented before were off-limits now. I couldn't go to Sevens, couldn't go to Peace Diner. Both destinations ran the risk of running into Chikarin. I entertained the idea of dropping by Double Slash, Kirishima-san's ramblings always had a way of calming me down. . . though in those cases, the person she'd often rambled with had been Chika. Besides, Double Slash was near Aoba Park, the one detail I'd caught from the adults' conversation the other day. Probably more trouble brewing over there. On the other hand, maybe that's exactly where I ought to be. After all, it shouldn't matter to anybody else where I go, right? Chika, Anna, my mother, my father, they shouldn't care if something, happens to me. Sure, in the worst case scenario they'd cry and pay their respects, to their daughter, to their classmate, to their...friend. But as a person, I'm like anybody else: replaceable.  _How can you miss someone you never even knew?_  

Who am I even asking anymore. . .

 

Somehow or other, I had walked myself back to Anna's house. Was I still welcome here? My mouth shifted up at the corners. If anybody had been around to see me, perhaps they'd find the grin shameless. The truth was, I wanted to be hated. I wanted to hear Anna say the words herself. It would sever all ties, break the chain, free me from her, her from me, selfish and selfless wishes canceling each other out. It would finally make things right. I laid down on the lawn, blades of grass engraving my bare skin. Scratchy, cool, and damp. I took the opportunity to stretch myself out, tensing my muscles strand by strand. Each and every fiber was tightened and relaxed, a flush of pain before release. I forced the strain until my body ached with delirium.  _Please, just hate me._ Fever-warm hallucination spread across my cells, finally relinquishing every last restraint. A total release. 

' _Freedom,'_ something said, human at first but then ringing, rolling, like the tolling of a bell.

It was the sound that stirred the thing from its long sleep. One of the larvae I'd starved inside me began to wriggle and writhe. When fully awake, it tongued its way out of its home in my heart's left ventricle, feeling through artery mazes on obsolete instinct. My left arm tingled just a little bit, right before all connections were cut and the limb was seized with a paralyzing spasm. The thing bled nostalgia as it was birthed from fingertips, finally free of the flesh and blood that had made up its amniotic fluid. It sprung out of the breach in my skin fully-formed and hungry, hunting for any visceral mirage it could sink its teeth into. It wanted fresh meat, an old delicacy: sandy hands and cold fingers, the sticky cold of seawater dried under grey summer sky.  _I won't feed you._ But my body was too tired to fight anymore.

*

 

 After lunch, my father drives me and Anna down to Suwa city, weaving through the banks and drifts of powder white hills like  he was chasing the snowflakes floating on winter wind.

"Have fun you two!" he waves us goodbye, "Make  _sure_ to be back by 4."

 

"The lake before Shirakaba is called Lake Megami. My aunt actually owns a small cottage there. Both lakes are actually man-made, along with Lake Tateshina. Suwa's natural though. Been around for thousands of years. We might not be able to skate on the lake, but at least we can see still the ice crack. Around these parts it's called Omiwatari, 'God's Crossing'."

Anna nods several times without looking at me.

"I know."

She just stays like that, staring out at the ice for a minute, then two, then three and four, each minute adding onto another. Her eyelashes flutter in a rather deliberate fashion, as if to beat away each and every flake of falling snow. Neither time nor the cold seem to matter in the face of her untouchable expression.

After a few more minutes of shared stillness, she shoots a side glance in my direction, the sort of surveillance that forces me to steady myself as much as it pushes me off balance.

"So, you like the countryside?" she asks, "You sure seem to know a lot."

Small talk.

"Yeah. . . it's nice," I stammer.

"Yeah, it is nice. . ." she echoes back. The words almost sound poetic.

Her gaze lingers, trailing across the entire span of the landscape before she lets out a smooth sigh. And the weight of that one breath falls over me. Relaxed, content. I huddle into my scarf and turn my eyes away, towards the lake. I allow myself to watch with her, observing the miniature ice floes slowly crash against one other. Layers upon layers of built-up pressure, all released in a single breath.

 

"You know," Anna starts, "I've always admired people who can move gracefully. Figure skaters, gymnasts, ballerinas, those kinds of athletes."

"When I was little, I actually asked my mom to let me do ballet. It ended awfully; I was no good at all. But even after I realized that, I kept going because. . . because—god, it's silly. . ."

"Sorry, it's nothing. I, don't really talk a lot. Anyways, don't expect too much."

 

We skate at the rink near Lake Suwa, just the two of us. . . and that one class of kids huddled close to mothers and coaches like those penguins in nature documentaries. The group appears to be comprised primarily of seven-year-old girls set on becoming figure skaters. They look out of place standing so still in their close-knit circle, skittish as they whisper and squirm amongst themselves. But that high-strung shyness dissolves soon as they're moving, swimming, out across the ice. Skating seems to come naturally to them, as if it was some innate trait buried deep in their genes. Just like walking, or running. The time and effort of training rendered all but invisible.

 

I'm not even close to professional, but I'm familiar enough with the general feel of skating, the flow of my movement over the ice, the occasional nick of a heel on a crack (clean ice is more slippery, but a much smoother glide). The artificially nippy air stings my face as I race fast as I can around the rink. Figures and jumps are out of the question, but speed has always been on my side. The ice starts out crystal clear, like a giant mirror. And so I do my part like always, along with everyone else: I scratch it up. Gash upon gash, what was once polished and pristine becomes rippled with splinter-line fractures, shavings of opaque white clouding the gaps in between. It's fun being able to ruin something perfect. There's just something to it that puts me at ease.  As I cut through the air-conditioned air, my face flushes with cold and strands of unkempt hair whip me near the eyes. It makes my vision sting with insignificant tears as I attempt to slow down, taking the time the readjust my hair before I look behind my shoulder to see how Anna's doing.

 

It's immediately apparent that she's been clinging to the wall this entire time. Upon seeing me she lets go, seeing sure for a moment. Then she flails about like an untrained duckling before flopping right over. 

"Ar-are you alright?!" I manage to cry out as I make a mad-dash towards her. 

She shoos me away with a free hand, the rest of her limbs still splayed out on the ice. "Yeah, Yeah. I'm fine, don't worry."

My bangs are brushed away from my eyes as I watch her get up and proceed to sweep in the most ungraceful motions, tumbling and tripping (or is it tripping and tumbling?) like a newborn deer learning how to walk. She doesn't quite get the hang of it as quickly as a fawn. But, she's trying, and as she gets up each time, she flashes me a reassuring smile. 

' _This is nothing_ ' her eyes seem to say. She continues to skid and slip and trip all across the ice, hands soon burning red from constant contact with the cold ground. The ice is rough too, from all the curves we cut out ourselves, and that's what scrapes up her palms and skins her knees. She says it doesn't hurt, (says it's only a twisted ankle that would kill her).

"If I did something to my ankle," she starts, "my mom would. . ."

 _What would she do?_ Anna's voice just trails off. She seems to be making sure our eyes don't connect. I don't probe her for the answer; she has her reasons.

 

After an hour or so, our two pairs of ankles have reached their respective limits, forcing us to leave the rink and unlace our skates. We tend to the aches and pains after settling down in the stands. The class of students is all that remains. 

"They're better than the adults." Anna comments. I have to agree, Little kids skating on the ice as easy as walking, maybe easier. It's here where they shine after all. Of course they'd try to make it look effortless. Watching them practice is like an encore to the night before, though Anna looks more wistful now than awed. We were all kids once I suppose, even track stars. 

 

"I've been  _waiting_ for you!" my father scolds me. He appears composed, unperturbed, but I can tell from his tone that he's seething under the surface. It's a small thing, best not to aggravate him, so I try my best to ignore it. Anna doesn't even flinch. Waiting for us back at the inn is the promise of a home-cooked meal.

 

On the dining table lay platters and bowls brimming with hot food. Between mountains of pearl-fattened rice, there's hot pots bubbling with stewed strips of marbled beef and crisp winter greens. Mushrooms, eggs, and soft tofu cover the heaps of thick noodles laid beside plates piled with steaming-hot sweet potatoes. Bowls of oden broil over with daikon and yams, fish cakes and fried tofu, all marinated in the same sweet soy broth. Succulent skewers of glazed chicken waft up honey-rich scents from trays arranged on either ends of the feast.

"...D'licious...," Anna manages to mumble between mouthfuls.

 

When it's bedtime, we, just Anna and I, sleep in the same pre-prepared room. The twin futons laid out on the floor smell of freshly laundered linen. At least, mine does; I just assume Anna's does as well. It's lights out at 10 o'clock sharp, the beginning of the inn's quiet hours. Anna is the first to fall asleep. I see her breath come out in wispy puffs, a cloud for each movement of her chest. She doesn't shiver or shake. Only the misty sighs from her mouth reveal that the season is winter. Otherwise, it could be any day, any day at all, any day where I could see her like this. Not just some one-off coincidence.

My body curls under the covers, cozy and snug. Some voice in the dark whispers about true love and princes and kisses that wake sleeping girls, warnings I ignore as I drift off into the warmth of soft sheets and my own self-satisfaction.

 

*

 

The weight of something warm, an insistent and affirming thing, roused me from unconsciousness. "...get up Noriko..." I opened my eyes to see Anna hovering overhead. Her face dripped with the hours she'd probably spent brooding. She nudged my stiff shoulder with the grip of her whole hand, each of her five fingers impressing its presence into me. Her thumb pressed hard against my clavicle. "Why are you just sleeping here?" she asked. Looking past her, I realized that the sky was no longer a cloudy grey. The marine layer of the afternoon had burnt off, letting sunset streak the sky with` cotton candy colors, powder pink clouds lit up gold against a dusty blue. I could make out the criss-cross of two planes, their pink trails carving an "X" into the yellowing dusk. One of them looked like it was going to crash into the sunken sun.

"I...was sleeping?" I asked, testing the daze still left in my voice. Anna seemed to take the languid question as an answer to her own query, standing up in silence and making her way to her front door. The flow of her movement swept me up with her and I followed her into the house.

Anna walked into the kitchen first. "Thirsty," She said before she drank straight from the faucet, catching what she could and letting the overflow spill off her chin. It reminded me of old track practices together, how the coach had always been running after her. 

_'Yoshizaka! Remember your water bottle for once!!'_

The memory never failed to tease a smile out of me.

"What do you want to eat?" she asked after she'd had her fill.

"Anything's fine."

 We eat leftovers for dinner. "Do you want a bath?" Anna asked as we pass the bathroom on the way upstairs "No, I'm fine," I said. We go to bed same as the night before. 

 

*

 

My father told me a long time ago that he'd never hurt me. I knew what he meant to say:  _I'll never lay a hand on you_. In that way, he kept his promise.  I still remember the summer when I was twelve, how hot August air burnt my throat while I walked and walked and walked and just kept walking up and up and up. 

He'd smiled in the doorway as if all was right in the world, just appearing out of the blue after three weeks of no contact. He told me he was taking me on a hike. I didn't argue, didn't say a word during the too-quick car ride to Mt. Katatsumuri. With him, on that day, I felt truly alone, more alone than I'd ever been by myself. It was when I learned what it really meant, to be an only child. Like a cancerous mass contained, condensed, entirely in the volume of my own blood, this was a sickness that I could not share. A strain only eased with hereditary bonds, a younger brother to protect, an older sister to be protected by. I had nobody. Maybe if there had been somebody with me when we climbed that mountain, I could have been spared, or at least able to salvage the wreckage of me. Maybe I could have saved something, someone.

It was a straightforward path cut through the wilderness, the trail we took. Whenever it diverged, I simply followed behind my father.

I remember the sun searing naked through the spaces in between the leaning power lines, the slant of dandelions in that windless place, their white-winged seeds hovering in air stilled by intense heat. I remember the dry smell of wood and dirt mixed with rotting animal flesh. I remember the skittering insects, the crackle of dry-brush, that all-encompassing buzz, hum, thrum, whir of summer, everything tinted sepia like an aged photograph in that hazy afternoon shimmer. I remember the weight of the atmosphere pressing down on me, wave after wave of ultraviolet sizzling against my skin.

It was then and there that I got my first sunburn, scorched peels flaking off my shoulders, my face stained a painful red. The calescence had been so very precise, indifferent, instinctual, perfect beams of laser-hot raising my body temperature by degrees. Not warm like the tans that had bloomed over my skin since I was small. No, the cosmic rays had scavenged my body like a wake of scientists. A human picked at like a specimen, a carrion corpse, as if I was already dead and decaying. The sun had never done that to me before. stripped me bare, laid me out like meat, raw and vulnerable. It was the lengthening shadows that saved me in the end.

We walked 9 miles total, no food no water, no words. 

When my mother got home that night, all that talk of divorce and separation and going off to live with her evaporated as if nothing had happened, everything now in its right place. Just like before. Had I expected any different?

 

*

 

"There's one more thing I want to show you," I tell Anna.  _Something very special to me..._

I ask my mother to drive us this time.

 

We're in a museum right on Lake Tateshina. The walls are lined with stylized pastel images, French, early 1900's, all painted by the same artist: Marie Laurencin.

"She also wrote poems," I say, " _Le Calmant, '_ The Sedative, _'_  being the most well known one here in Japan. You might recognize the lines 'worse than being dead / even more pathetic / is being a forgotten woman.' It's the famous, albeit slightly inaccurate, translation by Daigaku Horiguchi, who actually knew Laurencin. Poetic, no doubt, though a more faithful rendition might be 'worse than dead; forgotten.'" 

"You've got that memorized, huh." Anna's right. Over the years, I've managed to absorb countless bits of this impractical information. Every obtuse plaque and microscopic footnote.

 

_"She had affairs with both men and women."_

 

"A-ah yes! I mean—""I've been coming here since it first opened, when I was just a toddler. So I know....all the little details. . ." 

"Hm. . ."

I try to wash away my thoughts. Wipe the slate clean.

"Something on your mind?" I ask.

"Just, about that poem. . . I think, I'd rather...be forgotten."

"Huh?"

"I'd rather be forgotten, then nobody would be sad about me. I think things would be easier that way."

It strikes me as odd, that the girl who had so loudly proclaimed she would one day shine at the Olympics would resign herself to such a fate. Wouldn't someone like that want to be forever etched into the halls of fame?

"But, I really enjoyed everything else. The paintings were, nice. I liked, the colors and the. . . style?" "Sorry...I don't know much about this kinda stuff. . ."

It doesn't feel like she's forcing her words just to please me. Instead, it's as though she has trouble vocalizing her own feelings articulately, as if she'd never attempted such a thing before.

 

*

 

It was early that morning, 4 or so, when I was awoken by the sound of shifting sheets and labored breathing. I looked down from the bed onto the futon below to see Anna hyperventilating in her sleep, sweat slicking her forehead. Her expression was difficult to look at; a face contorted with pain, mouth twisted into a grimace and eyebrows buried deep in worry. Underneath their lids, her eyes twitched and trembled erratically. In fact, her whole body was shaking, shivering despite being drenched in sweat. Every few seconds, she'd mutter a curse under her heavy breath as she tossed and turned beneath thick blankets, fighting off some invisible enemy. ' _Must be a nightmare_ ,' I thought. It was then that her eyes burst open, wet and bloodshot, threatening to spill over. She stared straight at me as she let her breathing level out.

 

I knew she didn't want, no, need my help, so I just hung like a ghost in that pale darkness until she'd calmed herself down. Her voice eventually pierced the void. The night around me filled with the whisper, like the weight of a girl's skin on mine. 

"Can...you sleep next to me?" she asked. Her face was still dripping.

"Shh-Sure. . . if that would make you, feel better."

 

I laid my body next to hers. Anna ran fingers through my loose, long hair, the touches twinkling on my scalp like a crown of stars. So soft that they stung.

 

She held my head delicately and I felt the warmth of her breast, the unsteady thumping of her heart. She tightened the embrace, the span of her hands spreading over my back as my head was forced into the crook of her neck, my cheek pressed hard against it. Her skin was hot and sticky. The smell of sweat was palpable, salty but not unpleasant. Not in the least. Still, I needed some more ventilation, so I nudged my face upwards. As my open mouth brushed past Anna's throat, I could feel her take in the shallowest gulp of air.

 

The caustic tang of cigarettes on her breath was stronger than it had been those months ago ( _of course she took it up again_ ), but it was still sort of wispy, a faint and faded scent, as if she hadn't smoked much the past few days.

 

The smell reminded me that Anna was typically an acrid sort of person: harsh, bitter, calm on the surface but scalding hot underneath. I used to joke that coffee or black tea would suit her tastes, but I guess she preferred the burn of hard liquor. So her behavior recently struck me as odd, unnaturally sweet as it was. Like a splash of some extra added sugar. That was it. . . a strong, rude drink spiked with a shot of syrup. Almost. Somehow, it didn't feel so artificial. . .

 

And in the next instant, distance lost meaning. She closed the space separating our faces, her mouth pressing all too softly, gently, onto mine. A kiss between lips sticky with that same sort of strange sweetness. Of course, hers didn't have the oily, tacky texture they had before, the cosmetic taste of cream lipstick. No, this time there was none of that stickiness or residue, just the subtle sliding of skin on skin, a little wet, a bit slippery. Really nice. . .

 

As nice as it was unexpected. Body and mind boiling from the suddenness of the situation, all steam and embarrassment, bundles of neurons melting and twisting together, scrambling electrochemical signals, tangling, melding into impossible knots. All systems ran hot, overloaded with short-circuiting stimuli, unable to fully feel or understand everything that was going on. But, it was nice. . . a heartachingly comfortable heat.

 

I was the one to break it off, sore blood pounding from inside my throat, lungs burning for air.  _God I wish I didn't have to breathe._  I didn't need the oxygen in my brain, I didn't need to think at all. I could just drift off and forget everything. Everything but that kiss. That's all I needed.

 

' _Is it though?_ '' popped a thought in my feverishly hot head. ' _You want more, don't you?_   _More of her, all of her. . . You want to drink her up."_

Maybe I did. Maybe I really  _really_ did. But heavy, heated breaths inflamed my chest while butterflies mobbed the lining of my stomach. No words could come out.

 

I wanted her to drink me up too, free to swim in her skin. Anna kept her hands to herself, but I could see them twinge with the desire to reach out and touch.  _Please_. If anything, just hold me tight, need me. I want to be wanted. Hold me, and I'll hold you. I want to have every part of you, hold every part of you.

I nervously slipped my hand under her T-shirt and ran my fingers slowly down her spine, tracing each and every vertebra. Then there was a flinch, a supple buckling of skin, something so tiny I wouldn't have noticed if it hadn't been accompanied by a gasp. I felt my face flush fiery red, my own heart throbbing as I heard her pulse skip a few beats.

 

"Anna. . ." I muttered, feeling my hands on her trembling frame, ". . . I love you."

Her body went rigid. I wasn't holding a person anymore; the thing in my arms was the static weight of the ocean between ebb and flow. And then, like a receding wave, she pulled away. Just like before.

 

"I. . . I can't do this."

 

* * *

 

"While my mother was sketching models at the Académie Julian in the Rue de Berry, I was studying the complex art of classical verse with Professor B.C.

So that no one could interrupt us, we did not even let our socialite friends know we were there.

How surprised and delighted I was to meet two friends from my childhood, Mary and especially Violette S., in the  _Bois_. They were living with their parents at 23 Avenue du Bois de Buologne. Maturity had done nothing but accentuate the grave softness of Violette's dark eyes under her wide protuberant forehead and Mary's blonde insipidity, which put me more than ever in mind of one of Shakespeare's nonentities.

They immediately told me about their friend Renée Vivien 'who also wrote poetry' and who, like me shunned company—she had just been presented at St. James Court—so that she could devote herself to poetry.

I was to meet her at a matinee of the Théâtre Francais. The butler announced the arrival of the S's landau with my two friends and Renée Vivien and, at the same time, handed me an envelope upon which I recognized the handwriting of Liane de Pougy, then travelling in Portugal.

Preoccupied as I was, I only pretended to pay attention when I was introduced to the young woman who, at first, seemed charming but too ordinary to capture my interest. I was impatient to read Liane's letter.

I was no more attentive at the play (I cannot even remember what it was called) nor did I listen to my friends' chitchat during the first interval. By the second interval, I could bear it no longer but took the envelope out of my bag and withdrew to the back of the box muttering apologies. By the glow of a night light I read this strange letter . . . "

 

from  _René Vivien_ by Natalie Clifford Barney

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last Edited: November 20, 2018  
> Hello, there's still a lot of unpolished descriptions here but um...that's a problem for future me to figure out. Also, I restructured Chapter 2 to fit better with this new chapter because I am chronically indecisive. Anyways, hope you enjoyed something! As always, comments and critique are very much appreciated.


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